


A Day Off

by inkstainedwretch



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Knife Play, Sex Toys, post-Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:35:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27055777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkstainedwretch/pseuds/inkstainedwretch
Summary: Eve and Oksana get some much-needed time off, after it all.(I just finished season 1. I decided to make some edits to the finale. I’m certain this fic has been written a zillion times, but I DO NOT CARE.)
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 18
Kudos: 207





	A Day Off

The knife is still in Eve’s pocket. Just to be safe. Because this woman is _completely insane_ , and she has torn Eve’s life apart from the outside in, and she should have just shot her and ended the whole thing, but…fuck, what else does she have left?

That’s the thing, really. That’s sort of what she’s been setting herself up for since the minute she took the job from Carolyn. Or even before that. Really, how long has she been selectively oblivious to the way her whole life has been narrowing further and further down, one step, one person at a time, until she ended up here, quite literally in bed with a murderer? Isn’t this what she…fuck. Don’t go down that road.

(Why not? We’re already at the end of it, right?)

Villanelle puts the gun down on the floor and turns sideways, and what are the odds that she meant it when she said she wasn’t going to kill her? She hasn’t killed her so far, and she’s had _plenty_ of opportunities. She let Niko live. She let Dom live.

(Bill pops to mind, lying bloody on the floor of the club, and oh, that stings. That stings enough to make her want to take the knife and roll over and just-)

“You look angry.”

Oksana’s hand is on her face, the curl of a knuckle grazing over the curve of her jaw.

Suddenly Eve’s mind is washed out with panicky static, because this woman has always been able to read her like a book, what makes her think she could actually go through with it? Villanelle is _powerful_ , with so much more behind her in terms of physical strength and combat training that Eve really doesn’t stand much of a chance. But damn, does she want to find out if she could really do it.

“Yeah, it’s ‘cause I was,” she sighs. “I mean, I did break _all_ your champagne bottles.”

“Are you still angry?”

Another sigh, and Eve rolls to face her.

“No, I’m too tired.”

Oksana smiles, and the hand slides up to brush a curl of hair from her eyes. This is where she should do it. Just to prove to herself that she can.

“What does it feel like,” the words leave her mouth entirely without her permission, “when you kill someone?”

A small laugh, and then a shrug.

“Not much, these days,” she mutters. “In the beginning, there was a thrill to it, but now…I have to see it. When the life just leaves their eyes, I have to watch, otherwise it’s like there’s no point. I mean, it’s…”

Another shrug, and now it’s Oksana’s turn to sigh.

“Can I be honest with you?”

Eve’s eyebrows lift, and Oksana chuckles.

“It just got so boring, after a while,” she shakes her head. “I mean really. Nothing was exciting, anymore, until you came along.”

“Killing people got boring?” Eve sputters.

“M-hm,” she lets her face smush down against the pillow. “It gets lonely, you know? I had some fun with a couple of them, but then I come home, and it’s…”

She gestures to the rest of the room.

“It’s empty. I have to kill everyone who gets too close.”

“But, you’re not gonna kill me?”

“Nope,” Oksana leans in, nuzzles her nose against Eve’s. “I like you.”

The knife is in Eve’s hand, now. She could do it, she could. She could go through with it, push the blade in deep, feel the hot blood rush up to meet her hands…

She doesn’t want to. She wants to feel dangerous, but she doesn’t want to hurt Oksana. She doesn’t want to end this.

She tosses the knife behind her, and Oksana laughs again when she hears it thump on the mattress.

“You know, I actually didn’t expect that,” she says, right up against Eve’s mouth. “That could’ve been the end of me, right there. Why didn’t you do it? Why don’t you try?”

“You don’t think I can,” Eve counters.

“I know you cannot,” Eve can feel the curve of her smile. “You’ve never killed anyone. You couldn’t bring yourself to do it.”

“I could,” Eve’s hands wander a little, settling on the hard plane of Oksana’s waist. “Just not right now.”

Finally, Villanelle kisses her. Mother of fuck, _why_ does it feel this good? It’s flattering, sure, that a maybe-26-year old seems to find her so appealing, but then there’s the whole business with Anna to think about. There are so many reasons Oksana might want to do this, and almost none of them are good. But in truth, none of that matters right now. Oksana is kissing her, close enough that she can smell the rusty tang of blood that clings to her clothes, and it’s so soft, the way she wraps herself around Eve and tangles her fingers in her hair. It feels _tender_ , nothing at all like she imagined.

(Because, she has imagined.)

“Did you kill Anna?” she asks, when she can breathe.

“Didn’t have to,” Oksana shakes her head. “She did it for me.”

Two of her fingers come up under her chin, and she gives a wink. Eve shivers a little.

“Okay seriously,” she shakes herself, “do you just have a type, or is this really about her?”

There’s a moment of quiet, and Oksana looks kind of put out for a second. Eve feels her heart sink, just a little. This was her last out, one more shot at convincing herself this isn’t what she wants, one more push from the back of her mind telling her to go home, go find Niko and beg his forgiveness. But then, Oksana huffs with laughter.

“How is that even a question?” she chuckles.

Eve looks at her flatly, because that’s not an answer at all.

“I have a type,” Oksana rolls her eyes. “Of course I have a type, everyone does. But, Anna was always so…afraid. Ashamed. She never wore any of the gifts I sent her.”

Eve thinks back to the box full of envelopes, how they’d been perfectly preserved, the coat still in its bag. The perfume bottle was completely full.

“She didn’t, no…” she says quietly.

“How long did you wait,” Oksana’s thumb slides lazily back and forth on her scalp, “before you let yourself wear the perfume?”

Eve swallows thickly. “I mean, it went to forensics first.”

“And then?”

Her hand moves down, glides over the curve of Eve’s hip. She leans in, buries her face in Eve’s neck and breathes deep.

“You don’t have to say it,” she whispers. “I already know. I saw you take the suitcase into your house.”

Eve remembers clear as day how the paring knife had felt, nestled into the notch of her sternum. Villanelle could strangle her, smother her, _easily_ , but right now all she’s doing is pressing a gentle kiss to the spot below Eve’s ear. Right where she’d put the perfume.

“Do you wear it every day?” she whispers.

“Yeah,” Eve nods, and she lets herself get a leg hooked around Oksana’s hip.

She feels it, when Oksana lets out a shuddering breath against her skin.

“Fuck, you looked so hot in that dress,” she whispers.

“I _felt_ so hot in that dress,” Eve confesses. “God, you do things to me…”

Oksana’s tongue swipes over her throat, and then she’s kissing savagely up the side of her neck until she nips at her lower lip and Eve lets her in. _Jesus_ , she hasn’t kissed anyone like this since her thirties, the slick heat of Oksana’s tongue invading her mouth, rough and messy and starving for more.

“That’s what this is about,” Oksana growls. “Not her.”

Eve can hardly catch her breath, and deep in her chest there’s something growing like a disease. Her nails are catching on the fabric of Oksana’s sweater, and this is _so bad_ , she doesn’t even have a word for how far gone she is. But, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters right now but Villanelle’s body so, so close to her own. She wants to do things she can’t find words to describe.

There’s a twinge of panic, when she tries to roll on top of Oksana and finds she just doesn’t have the strength. She can feel the exhaustion sinking in, bone-deep, and under Oksana’s hands, her muscles are sore. Adrenalin is giving way to complete exhaustion.

“Okay, my turn to be honest,” she sighs, her head falling back a little. “I am way too tired to have sex, right now. Like, I am jet lagged to hell, on top of everything else.”

Oksana bursts into laughter, her cheeks going pink, and something breaks open in her expression that makes her look so…human. So _young_.

“That’s alright,” she snuggles up close, resting her head on Eve’s chest. “Sleep. I can’t wait to find out what kind of mood you wake up in.”

Eve looks down at her, and falling asleep in Villanelle’s presence is a terrible idea, but fuck, she doesn’t have much choice, at this point. She’s completely wrapped up in her, and she can feel the strength, the solid muscle of Oksana’s body, but it’s not wound up and poised to strike, the way it was in her kitchen. She feels relaxed, and that is so _weird._

“You’re not gonna fuck with me while I’m out, are you?” she mumbles.

“N-nn,” a puff of blonde brushes over her chin as Oksana shakes her head. “That’s no fun. Besides, I’m sleepy, too.”

Unbelievably, that’s all Eve needs to start drifting off, but then Oksana’s voice snaps her back awake.

“You’ll be here when I wake up, right?”

It’s so soft, she can barely make out what Oksana is saying, but she gets it.

“Yeah,” she yawns. “Will you?”

“Yes.”

It feels good, to hear her say it. Before she can think too hard about it, Eve lets her head roll sideways and crashes straight into sleep.

\--

When Eve wakes up, her mouth tastes like stale champagne, and she feels the kind of regret you can only feel after falling asleep in a bra. She needs a shower, and probably breakfast. Or, whatever meal corresponds to whatever time it is. God, where is she, again?

She rolls over and feels the knife still resting on the mattress, and that’s when she remembers what happened.

With a jolt, she scrambles up and looks blearily around the room, trying to blink her eyes into focus. She grabs the knife on instinct and sticks it in her pocket, cold adrenalin whipping through her gut, and she’s astonished to find the room exactly as it was when she fell asleep. Clothing and glass on the floor, vanity table out of sorts, nothing different, no one else there. She’s not sure what she expected to find, when she woke up, but this wasn’t it.

The space beside her is empty. She rolls out of bed and moves softly around it, ready for Villanelle to jump up out of nowhere and pounce. She doesn’t see her, but that’s never meant anything. She doesn’t hear much of anything, either. Did she just leave?

Slowly, she steps through the bedroom toward the kitchen, and with a start she sees the gun still on the floor. She considers picking it up, but then she thinks that might be a trap. Shaking a little, she bends down to peer under the bed and sees nothing but shoe boxes and an old suitcase.

Fuck it.

“Villanelle?” she asks no one. “Oksana? You here?”

The first thing she hears is a slow, soft sigh, and then Oksana’s voice echoes through the bathroom doorway.

“In here, honey.”

Eve rushes in to find Oksana stretched out in the tub, its salmon-pink sides glimmering as light glints off of the water’s surface. There’s some kind of oil in the water that perfumes the air, thick and humid, but it has no color to it, no bubbles. Nothing to keep the sight of Oksana’s body from view. Nothing to conceal the wand she holds in one hand, below the surface, its head pressed down between her legs, sending little ripples up into the water.

Eve stops dead. With her face flushed, leaning back against the edge of the tub, Oksana grins at her.

“There’s an extra toothbrush, if you want it,” she murmurs.

Sure enough, there’s a little brown box on the edge of the sink, wrapped in a beige ribbon. It takes her four tries with how her hands are shaking, but eventually she gets the ribbon undone. The box has a brand name embossed on one side in gold letters, and when Eve slides it gingerly open, there’s a black, wood-handled brush inside, its bristles white and pristine. It’s a perfect twin to the white-handled one resting in its stand by the faucet.

She looks sideways at Oksana, who bites the corner of her lip.

“Go on,” she nods, “I didn’t poison it.”

Eve takes the brush out of its box, smells it, and then reaches for the toothpaste.

“…thanks,” she mutters.

Oksana laughs again, but her hands don’t move out of place, and if Eve wasn’t already convinced this is the weirdest woman she’s ever met in her life, that would’ve done it.

Before she can talk herself out of it, Eve turns on the water and brushes her teeth. God, this would be a stupid way to die, if she actually did poison it, or something. It doesn’t taste off, though, and it’s good to get the taste of sleep and champagne out of her mouth.

Still, she cannot distract herself from the fact that Villanelle doesn’t take her eyes off of her for a second. Her gaze burns into the side of Eve’s face, and she can hear every little shake in her breath, and once she realizes the low hum in the background is the sound of the vibrator, she can’t manage to un-hear it.

When she’s rinsed her mouth out, she looks over and sees Oksana’s eyes blazing, her back curving upward so her chest begins to rise up out of the water. That Polish girl hadn’t had a clue; her tits are _fantastic_.

“This doing it for you?” Eve’s laughter belies her nerves.

“You have beautiful hands,” Oksana purrs. “Have I ever told you that?”

Eve tries to set the toothbrush down and ends up dropping it into the sink. She lets it stay there.

“Is that what you think about?” she asks. “When you do this, I mean.”

“Sometimes,” Oksana’s hips jerk upward, and the water splashes up around her, “or your hair, or your lips, or the way it felt to unzip your dress…”

There’s something magnetic about this woman, and it draws her close so quickly, she hardly realizes it until she’s halfway to the tub. She catches herself, stops, and on instinct her hand goes to her pocket, where the knife is still sitting. Oksana gasps.

“Are you gonna kill me, now?” she laughs. “Have you finally worked up the nerve?”

“I dunno, should I?” Eve’s voice is breathier than she wants it to be. Oksana actually rolls her eyes.

“Does it look like I’m about to try and hurt you?”

There’s the smallest note of frustration in her voice, and something close to longing. She doesn’t want this to end either. Eve’s breath leaves her in a rush. Oksana gasps again, her head twisting to one side.

“Oh my god, Eve…I was already so close before you walked in.”

Eve takes another step closer, watching Oksana’s eyes slip closed, her other hand gripping tightly at the side of the tub. She bites her lip hard, her body shaking, her whole face and neck flushed red. She looks at Eve with hunger, panting now, reaching for her with dripping fingers.

“Will you kiss me?” she asks. “When I come? Please, baby?”

Eve walks over to her, takes the knife from her pocket, and Oksana looks excited for a moment.

“You can hold onto that,” she murmurs, “if you want. It’s an unconventional security blanket, but it suits you.”

Eve kneels down by the tub, watching the way Oksana’s body shakes as she leans in. She’s holding back. She’s waiting for her. Fuck, if Eve wasn’t turned on already…

With her other hand, she takes Oksana by the hair and kisses her hard, and the whimpering noise she gets out of her is the hottest thing she’s ever heard. Oksana shudders, shouts, splashes water all over Eve’s shirt, pulls her down by the shoulder and kisses her furiously. The blade presses flat between them, ice cold, and when Oksana drops back down into the tub, there’s a thin line of red on her chest.

After a second to breathe, Oksana switches the wand off and sets it on the edge of the tub. She leans up and stretches, humming happily as she reclines again, looking for all the world like a woman who wants for nothing.

“Do you want to come in?” she asks.

Eve blinks, looking doubtfully at the size of the tub.

“Don’t worry, I can make room,” Oksana flips the switch on the tub that pulls the drain open, opening her arms with a bright smile.

Eve looks down at her shirt, now thoroughly drenched, and figures she’s come this far, so she might as well see this crazy thing through. She’s never in a million years going to get this chance, again.

She puts the knife behind her and tugs her shirt off, and drops of water fly off the ends of her hair to scatter across the floor. She hears Oksana switch the drain closed again, as she’s shuffling out of her pants. She can see a few beads of blood welling up, where the knife dug into Oksana’s skin, and she brings a hand to her mouth.

“Sorry,” she says, on reflex. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

Oksana glances down and shrugs.

“Didn’t even feel it.”

With the warm air on her skin, Eve is suddenly very aware of what she’s about to do, how for the _second time_ , somehow, she’s naked in front of the woman who broke into her house and left Bill bleeding to death on the floor of a club. She reaches back and takes the knife again, just because, and Oksana beckons her with the curl of a finger.

“Come here,” she says, her voice nothing short of cheerful. “I’ll wash your hair.”

Eve gets into the tub with her heart in her throat, but she lets Oksana turn her so her back is up against her chest. With gentle hands, she pours water over Eve’s hair, returning with a handful of shampoo and massaging it into her scalp. She can’t suppress a hum of satisfaction when she feels those strong, solid fingers dissolving the tension in her muscles. She hears Oksana laugh. When her hair is rinsed out, Oksana lifts a washcloth from where it rests on the spout.

“Can I wash the rest of you?” she breathes the words over Eve’s shoulder.

After a second, Eve nods, gripping the knife tightly.

The water is still warm, but Oksana’s skin is warmer, sliding the cloth over her back, leaving little trails of heat in their wake. When that’s done, her hands come around Eve’s stomach, drawing her back to lean against her, and with her pulse pounding, Eve complies. She can barely believe her eyes, watching Oksana’s hands pinkened by the heat, pressing just enough to ease the ache in her shoulders, in her chest. It’s hypnotic, and relaxing in the strangest way, feeling Villanelle handle her body so carefully.

Her breath hitches a little when Oksana washes the skin under her breasts. Her grip on the knife tightens reflexively, and she shivers outright when she feels another hand drawing her hair back over one shoulder. Oksana’s lips press against her neck again, punctuated by a long, low sigh.

“God, you’re so hot,” she breathes.

Eve shivers again, with more nerves this time, because ostensibly she’s on board with this, but in truth she doesn’t really even know what this _is_. She could be dead in five minutes, and the only thing to convince her otherwise is the word of a serial killer.

 _Professional assassin,_ she reminds herself. As far as she knows, Villanelle only killed one person before it was her job.

The washcloth gets set aside, and now Oksana is just touching her, still so gentle, still making such an effort to draw all the stress and apprehension out of her body. Eve catches herself leaning back into her hands, slowly making their way up her back, like they’ve got all the time in the world. Both palms come up under her breasts, holding them, rolling slowly before taking separate courses. One goes down her stomach to her hip, and the other comes up to her collarbone, fingertips finding the little white scratch marks still lingering by her neck.

“I didn’t do this,” Oksana says, curious, intrigued.

Eve freezes, and gets another kiss on her shoulder for it.

“It’s okay,” she can hear Oksana’s smile more than she can see it. “This was you, wasn’t it? Like these down here.”

Her other hand slides over Eve’s thigh, where there are a couple of scars left over from late night experiments.

“Trying to figure me out?” she nuzzles her face into the crook of Eve’s neck.

Eve chokes on her next breath, nearly drops the knife, and she doesn’t know, she can never be sure with this woman, whether what she says next will be what gets her killed. There’s a burning, hungry heat between her legs, an ache that wants so badly to be appeased. Her empty hand has found its way into Oksana’s hair. She wonders if Oksana can feel her pulse racing, just under her jaw.

“Always,” she hisses.

“Hmmm,” Oksana’s hand slides down, inside the crease of her hip, “you had fun with it, didn’t you? Here, show me.”

She puts a fingertip under the handle of the knife and guides it toward Eve. It hardly takes any effort on her part, even when Eve jumps once she realizes what she’s doing.

“I won’t hurt you,” Oksana nips at her ear. “Not unless you want me to.”

“Then, what are you doing?” Eve’s throat is dry enough that the words barely come out.

“I want you to show me,” Oksana bends Eve’s arm so the blade points right at her chest, hardly an inch of space between steel and skin. “Show me how you did it.”

This is a trap. It has to be. _But, what if it isn’t?_

Slowly, she brings the edge of it closer, until the tip of it is just barely touching her skin. Oksana slides her hand up to wrap around Eve’s, and the spike of adrenalin and panic is almost overshadowed by the throb of heat that goes through her. Either way, she shivers, jerks away from it and just ends up wrapped tighter in Villanelle’s arms. _Fuck,_ she’s so wet.

But, their hands just stay there, just this side of danger, and the kiss Oksana gives her throat comes with a blunt graze of teeth.

“Was it just your hands, or do you have your own set of toys?”

“I-I have a…”

Oksana reaches back and brings the wand into view, and Eve _finally_ notices the familiar shape and color, cordless, waterproof, a birthday gift from Niko two years ago. Or, at least, the same model.

“Oh, Christ,” she whispers.

Oksana puts the handle of the wand against Eve’s chin and turns her head all the way back, so she can give her a confusingly chaste peck on the lips.

“You have good taste,” she smiles wide, and then with the click of a button it comes to life.

Eve doesn’t watch her bring it down under the water, because there’s something wild and captivating in her eyes that makes her want to kiss her, again. So, she does. Then, Oksana pushes the wand up between her legs, and she shakes hard enough that if it weren’t for Oksana’s hand on her own, she could have easily cut her own throat open.

Her head falls back onto Oksana’s shoulder, her eyes slip closed, and she’s panting for breath already. Her hips tilt forward the way they did so many times before, in her office chair with Villanelle’s criminal record splayed across her desk. Oksana brings the knife closer, just enough for her to feel it, biting a little more.

“You know, maybe two days ago, I killed a woman just by biting her neck,” she murmurs.

Eve shudders, and her fingers tighten in Oksana’s hair. Around the handle of the knife, their fingers tangle, not from a struggle but a desperate effort to feel more of her. Oksana bites again, harder now.

“Is that what you think about, when you do this?” her voice is a blend of laughter and desire. “Do you imagine what it looks like, when I kill them? Or, do you wonder what it would be like if I killed you?”

Eve’s eyes snap open, and she goes rigid with fear. But, Oksana just turns the wand in her wrist, back and forth, back and forth, and now a whole new kind of panic jolts through Eve’s spine, because she’s _too_ good at this.

“Did you…” she has to clear her throat. “Were you _watching me_?”

“Only once,” Oksana moves the knife a little closer, a little to the side. “When you tried to patch things up over facetime. Did Niko know where you got those shoes?”

That should scare her enough to make her jump out of the bath and run, or yank the knife out of Villanelle’s grip and push it straight through her throat, or anything, anything at all to put a stop to this, because she’s been so good at ignoring how _fucking dangerous_ this is up until now, and it’s going to get her killed. But, it’s so good. It’s so goddamn good, the way Villanelle glides the end of the knife over her skin, kisses hotly across her neck until Eve turns to meet her.

“Do you want to know how many times I got myself off,” she asks, “while you were wasting your effort on him?”

Eve tugs her down and kisses her deeply, and she’s twisted so far back it nearly hurts her neck, and she doesn’t care for a second. Oksana moves the knife again, caresses her with the edge of the blade, and it’s over. She comes gasping, heat rolling through her, pulling hard on Oksana’s hair and feeling a sting of pain at the base of her neck. Oksana was clearly paying attention, because she knows how to move the wand up, circle it a little and draw it out, until Eve’s squealing through clenched teeth and she finally cuts it off.

While she’s catching her breath, it hits her like a gunshot that this is the best sex she’s had in maybe a decade. She has to get out of here.

After she’s put the toy away, Oksana swipes her fingertip over the bead of blood welling up on Eve’s skin. She laughs happily, moving the knife away and prying it from Eve’s grasp with only a little effort. She drops it on the floor, and Eve doesn’t bother protesting.

“Sorry, baby,” she croons. “Another mark for the collection, yeah? Now we match.”

Eve waits to see what she does next, anticipating hands on her throat or one arm getting twisted behind her back. Instead, she gets a soft kiss pressed to her hair, and the sound of the drain getting flipped open again.

“Let’s dry off,” Oksana stretches both arms above her head. “I’ll order some lunch.”

She climbs up out of the tub, and Eve just sits there stunned, for a second. There’s a trail of maybe twenty dead bodies that led them to this place, and now that the lust has dissolved its way out of her, she can’t ignore them so easily. Would Villanelle let her leave, if she tried?

A towel flies into her peripheral vision, and she catches it reflexively. Villanelle, wringing the water out of her hair, comes to kneel down beside her with a lazy grin.

“Come on,” she nods toward the door. “Let’s take a day off, yeah?”

Simple as that. Villanelle’s unbelievably casual attitude is probably what makes her so good at her job. It’s definitely appealing, given the alternative.

She nods, stands up with a grunt and dries herself off.

The floor is sticky with champagne and covered in broken glass. Oksana just walks around it, muttering something about a cleaning lady, and they don’t really say anything else about it. She gives Eve a new set of clothes to wear from a bag that wasn’t sitting by her dresser when Eve showed up yesterday. They fit perfectly.

Lunch, or maybe dinner, who knows, ends up being sinfully rare steak and fresh baked potatoes from a restaurant that knows Oksana’s voice over the phone. They eat it right out of the takeout containers and watch a movie, and then another one, like they do this all the time. Midway through the second one, Oksana snakes an arm around her waist, and that’s how they stay.

When the credits are rolling and the sky is dark outside, Oksana pulls Eve close and drags her tongue across her lip.

"Do you want to fuck me?” she asks playfully. “I can show you how.”

And that’s how they end up naked again, Oksana straddling Eve’s thigh while Eve hooks two fingers inside of her and pulls until her arm goes numb. It’s worth it, it’s worth everything for the sight of Villanelle’s head falling forward, barely holding herself up on the back of the sofa, close to sobbing while Eve’s hand is drenched with her. Absolutely nothing, not even the sight of Villanelle on her knees a few minutes later, tugging Eve’s hips forward so she can taste her, has ever made Eve feel so powerful.

They fall asleep wrapped around each other again, and when Eve wakes up the next morning she knows she has to leave. Oksana is still asleep, and maybe that’s the best way to do it, so she extracts herself as gently as possible and picks her clothes up from where they’re strewn across the floor. She has to pick a few pieces of glass off her skirt, but she manages.

Her heart stops when she hears Oksana roll over.

“Are you leaving?”

Slowly, she turns to face her, but Oksana doesn’t look upset, or even disappointed. She nods.

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “Work, you know?”

She isn’t really sure if that’s true anymore, but it’s all she has. Oksana inhales deeply and sits up, one leg sticking out from under the covers.

“Can I get a kiss goodbye?” she asks, her voice heavy with sleep.

Eve hesitates, and Oksana holds both hands up, palms open.

“I’m not gonna ruin it, don’t worry,” she shakes her head.

That’s enough for Eve, so she walks over and brushes Oksana’s hair out of her face, and there’s a sincerity to the way Oksana is smiling that cuts more sharply than steel. When was the last time she actually had someone to watch a movie with?

She cradles Oksana’s face in both hands, kisses her sweetly, and only flinches a little when Oksana’s hands come up to her waist. For a moment, they just look at each other, and with her hair out of sorts and her eyes warm with sleep, this is the first time Eve can remember that Oksana hasn’t looked dangerous.

“I’m gonna miss you,” she admits, because there’s really no sense in trying to hide it.

Villanelle gives her that wide, wondrous smile, the same one she gave her when she smelled the perfume on her neck.

“You’ll find me again,” she says.

She leans in to capture Eve’s lips one more time, and then she falls back down onto the bed with a sigh. Her eyes slide shut, and she turns onto her side, away from Eve, without another word.

Eve feels like she should say something, but she doesn’t know what. The door feels heavier on the way out than it did coming in.

She makes it all the way to the airport before her phone buzzes. She doesn’t check her phone until she’s on the plane, getting ready to switch off the signal. It’s a text from a number she hasn’t saved yet, just two words.

_Safe travels._

A warm glow springs to life, deep in her chest, and she’s already smiling before it hits her what she’s done. And then, it falls apart.

There’s no coming back from this. There’s no way out. This woman is going to _kill her_ , or at the very least kill everyone around her, and who knows how many other people, on orders from some higher up she still can’t identify. People are going to die because of what she did today, and the day before that, and the day before that. And she can’t muster up the integrity to regret it.

She turns and curls against the window, hoping the attendants don’t ask why her eyes are watering. Somewhere in the stupidest parts of her brain, she can’t help but hold out hope that somehow, this will all be okay. The rest of her knows better.


End file.
